Two Snipers and a Consulting Criminal
by LordSadLampshade
Summary: Alana McAdams wants someone dead, and there's only one man who can get the job done- James Moriarty. However, the consulting criminal may have other ideas in mind for his client. One-shot, 2732 words.


Sebastian Moran was not a cab driver.

And if there was one thing he despised doing, it was picking up and dropping off his boss' clients (dead or alive) in his far-from cheap Toyota SUV. The car should have at least made him feel a little better, but in reality he ended up coming off as some cliche secret agent.

He was a sniper, not sodding MI5.

But business was business, and as long as Moran was paid at the end of the day, he usually wouldn't complain. Besides, only fools made a fuss under the employment of James Moriarty.

Today was a somewhat cloudy Thursday afternoon in London. Moran was due to pick up a prospective client outside the west entrance of Hyde Park, so as to avoid suspicion. As he rolled up to the curb, he lit a cigarette and took a long drag, blinking slowly in the weak sunlight.

A young woman stood purposefully on the edge of the pavement, dressed for colder weather in a dark coat and hat. She was not the only one standing there, but Moran had been well-informed of whom the client was. He pulled up in his SUV, rolled down the window, and said gruffly, "Miss McAdams?"

The young woman nodded, and opened the back seat of the vehicle, quickly climbing in and out of sight.

As Moran maneuvered through the winding streets of England's capital, he heard the lilting Irish accent of his passenger pipe up, "You're... you're Sebastian Moran, yes? Mister Moriarty's top man?"

Moran grunted affirmative. Technically he wasn't supposed to speak to the clients, but Miss McAdams was attractive. Moran had never been one to turn down a pretty girl- he figured the boss wouldn't mind this one transgression on his part.

"Just Seb's alright," Moran grinned from the driver's seat, "easier to say when you're not being formal."

McAdams frowned. "Don't even _think_ about trying that on me, mate. I know a few moves."

Moran laughed despite himself. He doubted that the young woman would be able to hold her own in a children's karate class, let alone against an accomplished marksman.

"I'm sure you do, sweetheart, but I'd wager fifteen quid you couldn't pin me."

Miss McAdams snorted and rolled her eyes, putting on a brave face. Moran chuckled.

They rode in silence for the rest of the trip, save for the occasional curse Moran levelled at a careless driver or a old hag walking across the street.

In half an hour they pulled into a parking lot behind a set of apartment complexes near Greenwich. It was a high-class neighborhood, and McAdams looked a little surprised at this.

"Well, what were you expecting? A gang of druggies under a bridge at midnight?" Moran snorted. The young woman shrugged, regaining her composure.

Moran, though amused by Miss McAdams' outburst earlier, still took care not to get within hitting or kicking distance of the young woman as he opened her door of the SUV. As she stepped out onto the cool asphalt, he noted she was wearing a sturdy pair of boots- perfect for running or stomping on faces.

 _So, she'd not stupid_ , he mused, locking the car and motioning for her to follow him to the set of stairs at the edge of the parking lot, _perhaps I've underestimated her a little._

* * *

Alana McAdams was not impressed with James Moriarty's dog.

Quite frankly, if she were running the show, she'd have employed a far more polite sniper, but now wasn't the time to chastise the 'consulting criminal' on hitman choices. She needed a job done, and then she'd be on her way, as far away from both men as possible. In fact, as far away from the United Kingdom as possible.

As Sebastian Moran led her up a flight of stairs and into a large elevator, Alana briefly considered making a run for it. As the many people who'd referred her to Moriarty had warned her, owing the criminal mastermind a favour was not unlike owing the Devil one's soul.

But desperate times called for desperate measures, and Alana was determined to fulfill her agreement on as equal (however, not necessarily _decent_ ) terms as possible. She was a smart woman- she would not be fooled by a man with a fancy title and his sniper.

The elevator ride ended within a minute, and Alana stepped out onto a polished tile floor. Her eyebrows shot up at the decor, but her expression returned to blank as Sebastian's face came into view.

"Right this way, ma'am," he said with a little more courtesy than before. Alana assumed he was playing it safe in front of his boss.

He led her to a waiting room down the hall, complete with leather chairs and an elaborate chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Whoever this Moriarty character was, he certainly liked to impress his clients. Alana considered removing her coat, but thought better of it when she spotted Sebastian eyeballing her from a corner.

Seconds dragged on like hours, and Alana grew impatient. She fiddled with a stray bit of string on her jacket, and periodically took out her cellphone, although there was no easily accessible wifi in the complex. She eventually removed her jacket for want of a better activity, although by this time Sebastian had lost interest and was sitting on the windowsill of the waiting room, staring out the window. Lost in his own little world of pretty girls and guns, most likely.

Alana had begun to suspect Moriarty's game; like a schoolmaster intent on scaring his students, he forced his clients to wait outside in hopes of intimidating them. Alana refused to fall for it entirely, though she had to admit, she was far more nervous than she'd been when she'd arrived.

After what seemed like a century, however, a low, accented voice sounded from behind the closed door in front of her.

"Sebastian, show her in."

Sebastian slid off his seat on the windowsill, and walked briskly to the door, swinging it open.

"After you, ma'am."

Alana McAdams, after a slight hesitation, stepped inside the room.

Unlike the waiting area, it was sparsely furnished save for a desk, a bookshelf and two blue suede chairs, one behind the desk and one in front of it.

The man himself occupied the former chair, his feet propped up on the wooden desk casually, as if he were a cocky salesman and not a consulting criminal.

He wore an expensive suit that matched the chairs, and his eyes flicked up and down Alana like a snake ready to strike any minute.

Alana took a seat.

"Alana McAdams, I presume." Moriarty had a thick Irish accent like her own, which surprised her a little- she'd been expecting an English one. Collecting herself, she cleared her throat and said, "Yes. And you must be Mister Moriarty."

The man in front of her smiled. It was not a kind smile- fair from it- and the look in his dark eyes made Alana very uncomfortable.

"That I am. Obviously someone such as yourself would not have made it this far without a significant offer to make to me, so... What is it you require?"

Alana glanced backwards at Sebastian, who leaned against the far wall in a similar manner to his employer- relaxed, but given the right incentive, would kill on a whim.

"A man came to see you some time this week. His name is Cameron Lassiter. He offered you a significant sum of money for a business fraud he was planning to commit, with your support of course."

Moriarty took his shoes off his desk and folded his spidery hands. "Go on."

"I want him dead."

"Want, or need?"

"Need. We... we knew each other, back before I joined the BAF. He married my sister, Janet, and inherited the family fortune that was supposed to be _mine_ after they divorced three years ago. He's also a right arsehole," Alana added. The consulting criminal pursed his lips.

"You do realise that if I decide to accept your offer, I will lose my client- and his money, for that matter. Why should I do that?"

Alana smiled for the first time, her grin not dissimilar to Moriarty's. "You'll get the money from his fraud attempt- just kill him after it's done. And thirty percent of the inheritance from his insurance afterwards."

"Forty percent."

"Thirty-five."

"Thirty-eight."

"Thirty-seven and not a pound less."

The consulting criminal licked his lips. "You drive a hard bargain, Miss McAdams. But I accept your offer. However, once this deal is made, I expect you not to back out. My people are... _specialised_ at finding those like you. I will see to it that they do their job should you chose to refrain from delivering the payment."

Alana could feel Sebastian's smirk boring into her back. Moriarty sighed regretfully. "I believe our meeting is over, Miss McAdams. Sebastian, escort her to the exit."

Sebastian's hand clamped around Alana's arm in an iron grip. She tensed, but stood from her seat and let him half-drag her out the door.

Moran led her to the waiting room, but did not take her to the elevator. The young woman quirked an eyebrow at him but said nothing. He noticed her hands bunching into fists.

"If you're gonna try anything," she said quietly, breaking the silence, "at least have the balls to try it face-to-face."

If anything, it was face-to-torso- Moran was a great deal taller than McAdams, and was certainly more muscled. He fancied his chances, and was certainly not backing down from a challenge- especially one from a _girl_ at that.

Without warning, he darted forward with a quick uppercut, intent on knocking her out to make it easier for him. To his shock, she dodged with surprising accuracy, bouncing back on her heels with a series of short, painful punches to his abdomen. Moran grunted and blocked the last few blows, but wasn't quick enough to avoid the kick to the groin McAdams administered almost instantly after.

He doubled over with a groan, and the young woman, already in possession of the upper-hand, swept his legs out from under him and pinned his right arm behind his back.

She leaned in close to his ear, pulling his arm into an agonising position, and whispered, "You owe me fifteen quid."

Slow, sarcastic clapping filled the room.

McAdams glanced up, momentarily distracted, and Moran took the waver in her concentration to flip her over and lock her arms behind her, standing up and using his free arm to pull her head back. She spat a series of very descriptive curses at him.

James Moriarty stood outside his door, a wide, inhuman grin on his normally composed features.

"What did I tell you, Moran?" He chuckled. "Now, the real question is, can she hold a gun?"

Alana stopped struggling and stared open-mouthed at the consulting criminal. He couldn't seriously be thinking...

"Of course, I read into your background," Moriarty explained casually, stepping up to her and leaning in uncomfortable close, "and found some interesting tidbits regarding your service in the British Air Force, and a nasty skirmish with a few choice family members that occurred once you got back to Dublin. Tell me, did you pull the gun on your cousin or did he do it first?"

"Let me go," Alana said with unexpected calmness. "Let me go, and we can go through with the deal like normal."

Moriarty laughed- a coarse, eerie noise that made Alana's skin crawl. "I was never planning to seriously accept your offer, dear. I just wanted to see what you were capable of."

"What I... was... capable..."

"Tell me, Miss McAdams, how good of a shot are you?"

The words left Alana's mouth before she could think too carefully about them. "They told me close to the best."

Moriarty nodded. "My sources happen to say the same. Now, as you seem to be in a considerably messy situation with the law currently, will you take me up on my offer?"

Alana sighed. Her drill sergeant back in the Air Force had taught her to know when she was beat. This was one of those times. It was true- after the accident with the gun and her overly-grabby second-cousin Daniel, Scotland Yard had been making inquiries of the dangerous kind. She was too caught up in sorting out her financial businesses and the like to worry about imprisonment, and she needed an out. Moriarty knew how to play people like her, and he'd succeeded in doing just that. She'd walked right into an ultimatum; a trap.

The consulting criminal brushed invisible dust off his immaculate suit. "I'm sure this is a lot to take in for one in your position. I suggest you sleep on it."

Alana heard Sebastian pull something from his trouser pocket, then a slight pain in her neck. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she went limp in his grip.

* * *

Alana woke up to blinding rays of sunlight.

She rubbed her eyes and vaguely wondered if the events of yesterday had been a dream. Then she realised she was not in her own bed in her flat. She promptly panicked.

Shooting out of bed as if it were on fire, Alana tumbled onto the floor somewhat ungracefully. She was, thank God, still in the clothes of yesterday.

Walking to the window, she glanced blearily outside, hoping to glean information from her surroundings.

Alana guessed she was still in the apartment complex she'd met Moriarty in. _That bastard_.

The morning London traffic bustled by, accompanied by the occasional impatient beep or catcall from the drivers below. There was no fire escape, or even a significant windowsill, so Alana had no doubts she'd fall to her death before attempting an escape.

"Nice view, isn't it?"

Alana turned, a glare boring into Sebastian Moran, who stood in the doorway to her room.

"Go on," Sebastian drawled in his Cockney accent, "take a shot at me. After yesterday, you've earned it."

His attitude was completely different from the cocky hitman Alana had experienced the previous day. She started. "Come again?"

Sebastian shrugged. "The whole up-himself bugger was an act the boss set up to try and provoke you into doing what you did. I've gotta say, that was a sweet takedown if I ever saw one."

Alana's mouth twitched. "Well, I wasn't exactly going to just let you win, was I?"

Sebastian produced a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his jacket pocket. "Want a smoke, if we aren't having a go at each other?"

"Please."

They stood there, smoking tobacco for a few minutes in silence.

"So," the hitman said between drags of his cigarette, "I'm assuming you're gonna accept the boss' offer. You might've guessed it's not something you just turn down."

Alana sighed, putting out her cigarette on the bed frame. "I don't know. This happened so fast- I'll need some time to decide whether it's worth it."

"Well, boss says I'm supposed to show you the ropes around London today, and at the end he says you're meant to make your decision."

"What if I say no?"

"Then you'd best leg it to Yank-country unless you want the Scotland Yard pigs tailing you. If you say yes, you'll get a new last name, new backstory, et cetera. Alana McAdams would have died in a plane crash while flying back to Dublin. Whaddaya say? Fancy a ride around the heart of England courtesy of Yours Truly?"

Alana paused. If anything Moriarty claimed was at all true, she'd be able to start over. From the manner Sebastian acted in and the clothes he wore, she guessed she'd be paid well, and London was by far a better place to live than Dublin- Dublin meant family members asking questions.

"Okay. Let's go."


End file.
